Get Me Some!
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: Sherlock always gets a little too harsh when he's behind in his regular dose of nicotine. John decides he's not going to give in. But when a Baskerville case brings them together in an unexpected way... will the local gay implications push them over the friend zone?
1. Get Me Some

John looked up from his laptop shocked ad his flat-mate entered their flat, covered with sticky, red blood and holding a harpoon even taller then he was. "Well that was tedious." Sherlock exclaimed, casually, almost upset.

"You went on the tube like that?"

"None of the cabs would take me." Sherlock replied.

He was always like this in his enthusiasm over cases when he was low on his dose of nicotine. Sherlock paced the room, now cleaned of the blood and dressed in his blue silky robe, but still carrying the harpoon as he marched. "Nothing?" He asked, gesturing towards John.

"Military coo in Uganda, hmm" John chuckled, "another photo of you in the uh-" John pointed down to the picture on the front page of the weekly paper, Sherlock had the 'deer stalking hat' on and his collar tucked up. He looked rather ridiculous. Sherlock groaned.

"Umm..." John continued to read off, "Cabinet re-shuffle?"

"Nothing of importance!" Sherlock yelled, pounding the bottom of the harpoon against the floor, "God!" His expression suddenly changed as he turned to face John, "John, I need some. Get me some!"

"No."

"Get me some!"

"No!" John retorted, "Cold turkey! We agreed no matter what. Anyway, you paid everyone off remember? No one within a 2 mine radius will sell you any."

Sherlock bit at his fingernails desperately, "Stupid idea, who's idea was that?"

John coughed uncomfortably. It had been _his_ idea.

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock yelled as he started rummaging through the various papers scattered along his desk. "No!"

John sighed, "Sherlock, you're doing really well. Don't give up now!"

"Tell me where they are! Please! Tell me." Sherlock turned to John, faking a pleading and sad look, "Please..."

"Can't help you sorry..." John sadly rejected him.

"I'll let you know next week's lottery numbers." Sherlock bribed.

John laughed and Sherlock groaned, "Worth a try."

Sherlock started rummaging through things stashed in the fireplace as Mrs. Hudson entered. "My secret supply, what've you done with my secret supply!? Cigarettes! What've you done with them? Where are they?" Sherlock frantically searched.

"You know you never let me touch your things." Mrs. Hudson answered, "A chance to clean would be a nice thing..."

"I thought you _weren't_ my housekeeper."

"I'm not!" Mrs. Hudson replied. "How about a nice cup? Perhaps you could put away your harpoon-"

"No I need something stronger then tea!" Sherlock took the harpoon up again, pointing it directly at Mrs. Hudson now. "You're seeing him again. Sandwich shop! That's a new dress, but there's flower on the sleeve. You shouldn't dress like that for baking!"

"Sherlock!" John tried to interrupt.

"Thumbnail, tiny traces of foil. You've been at the scratch cards again. We all know where that leads don't we?" Sherlock cocked his head, his attitude unbearable. He sniffed the air, "Hmm, Casabana Nights. Bit too much fragrance for a first thing in the morning wouldn't you agree? I've written a little blog in the identification of perfumes it's on the website, you should look it up!" Sherlock paced back to the window, his lust for entertainment still unsatisfied.

"Please..." Mrs. Hudson begged.

"Wouldn't get to close with that cruiser Mrs. Hudson he's got a wife in Doncaster that nobody knows about."

"Sherlock!" John was yelling now.

Sherlock twiddled his fingers accenting a harsh and uncaring tone, "Nobody accept me!"

Mrs. Hudson left the room in an angry fit, choking down tears, "I don't know what you're talking about! I really don't."

She slammed the door shut on her way out.

Sherlock was always like this when he was absent of his nicotine. It was irritating, crude, and unbearable. John always got angry when he started to insult people, but he was insulting Mrs. Hudson now. "What the bloody hell was all that about?" John asked as Sherlock took a seat in the leather chair opposite him. "Go after her and apologize!"

"Apologize?" Sherlock sighed, "Oh John, I envy you so much. Your mind, it's so straight forward. Barely used. It's like an engine, racing out of control, a rocket breaking itself to pieces- I NEED A CASE!"

"You've just solved one!" John raised his arms over his head in an angry fit. "By harpooning a dead pig apparently!"

"That was this morning!" Sherlock groaned again, "When's the next one?"

Sherlock was always like this, detestible, impatient, and full of surprises. When he didn't have his nicotine.


	2. The Client

Finally, the case Sherlock had been waiting for stumbled in. Middle aged man, semi-handsome, and complete with a slight dose of crazy.

"Dartmoor, it's always been a place of myth and legend. But is there something else lurking out here? Something, very real?" Sherlock and John sat, listening to the video that played on the screen. Images of Dartmoor creepily traded from the rocky glades to a broken fence over run with ivy, and barely managing to hold a threatening 'KEEP OUT' sign. The video continued, as the camera followed a lady talking, no doubt the reporter. "Because Dartmoor is also home to one of the government's most secret of operations. A chemical and biological weapon research center. Which is said to be even more sensitive then Porton Down."

Sherlock twiddled his thumbs impatiently as the lady lazily continued talking, over dramatizing her narration until the camera fell down on the bust of the man sitting next to them. Their client was being interviewed on screen. "I was just a kid, and it was on the moor. It was dark, but I know what I saw." He shyly explained. Then a picture of a penciled drawing came up. The dog was menacing, with red eyes, a black body, and sharp teeth dripping red. It's body loomed with power and animalistic hunger. "I know what killed my father." Sherlock sighed and switched off the screen.

"What did you see?"

Henry, their client, pointed to the television, "I-I was just about to say..."

"Yes, in a TV interview. I prefer to do my own editing." Sherlock brought his hands to his lips in a thinking position and waited.

"Yes..." Henry cleared his throat, "Sorry, yes of course."

Henry pulled a napkin out of his pocket and blew his nose into it, not noticing the studying glance he'd gotten from Sherlock as soon as he'd done it.

John decided to be comforting, "In your own time." He smiled.

"But quite quickly." Sherlock was always impatient.

He still hadn't had his nicotine.

After a sharp breath, Henry spoke, "Do you know Dartmoor Mr. Holmes?" He asked.

"No."

"It's an amazing place. It's like nowhere else." Henry started to move his hands, trying to create a picture, "It's sort of bleak but beautiful."

"hmm, not interested. Moving on." John gave Sherlock an irritated glance.

"We used to go for walks after my mum died, my dad and me. Every evening we'd go out onto the moor."

"Yes good, skipping to the night that your dad was violently killed," Sherlock interrupted. "Where did that happen?"

Another irritated look from John.

"There's a place, it's a sort of local landmark called Dewar's Hollow." Henry looed at Sherlock as if that was supposed to explain everything.

Sherlock just shook his head, implying he didn't understand.

"That's an ancient name for the devil." Henry stated.

"So?"

Henry furrowed his eyebrows before John decided to chip in, "Did you see the devil that night?"

The man shook his head, his mouth open and dry, "Yes. It was huge, coal black fur with red eyes. It got him, tore at him. It tore him apart."

Sherlock's look of pleasant amusement changed to seriousness as Henry continued, "I can't remember anything else. They found me the next morning just wandering on the moor. My dad's body was never found."

John turned to Sherlock, "Well, red eyes, coal black fur..." He tried to piece the characteristics. "Enormous. That's a dog? Wolf?"

"Or a genetic experiment."

Henry furrowed his eyebrows again, "Are you laughing at me Mr. Holmes?"

"Why, are you joking?" no emotion in his reply.

"My dad was always going on about the things they were doing at Baskerville, about the type on monsters they were breeding there. People used to laugh at him. At least the TV people took me seriously." Henry retorted.

Sherlock smirked, "I assume it did wonders for Devon tourism."

John tried to reconcile, "Henry, what happened to your dad was 20 years ago, why come to us now?"

"I'm not sure you can help me Mr. Holmes, since you find it so. funny." The man barked.

As he started to get up, Sherlock worked his magic, "Because of what happened last night."

"Ho-How do you know?"

John rubbed his hand against his forehead. Here we go again...


	3. Sniffing it Up

"How did you know?" The newest client asked.

"I didn't know, I noticed. Came up from Devon on the first available train this morning, had a disappointing breakfast and a cup of black coffee."

John rolled his eyes. Here we go again.

"The girl in the seat across the aisle fancied you. Although you were initially keen, you've now changed your mind. You are however extremely anxious to have your first cigarette of the day. Sit down Mr. Knight and do please smoke. I'd be delighted."

Henry slowly came around the chair, settling himself into it once more before asking, "How on earth did you notice all that?"

"It's not important." John started.

"Punched out holed for your tickets-"

"Not now Sherlock!"

"Oh please, I've been cooped up here for ages." Sherlock begged.

"You're showing off."

"Of course, I am a show-off. That's what we do." Sherlock grinned. "Train napkin, you used it to mop up the spill, the coffee strength of the stain shows that you didn't take milk, the traces of ketchup on it and around your lips and your sleeve, cooked breakfast. Nearest thing those trains can manage, probably a sandwich."

Henry chuckled, then asked with a saddened high pitch voice, "How did you know it was disappointing?"

"Is there any other type of breakfast on a train?"

Henry nodded in agreement before Sherlock continued. "The girl, female handwriting is quite distinctive, wrote her phone number down on the napkin. I can tell from the angle she wrote at that she sat across from you on the other side of the aisle. Later after she got off I imagine you used the napkin to mop up your spill, accidently smudging the numbers. You've been over the last four digits yourself with another pen, so you wanted to keep the number. Just now though, you used the napkin to blow your nose. Maybe you're not that into her after all."

John glared at Sherlock. "Look you don't have to-"

"Then there's the nicotine stains on your fingers, your shaking fingers. I know the signs. No change to smoke one on the train, no time to roll one before you got a cab here. It's just after 9:15 you're desperate. The first train from Exeter to London leaves at 5:46 AM. You were on the first one possible, so something important must have happened last night. Am. I. Wrong?"

Henry looked at Sherlock with amazement, then to John who looked as if he was fighting the urge to punch someone. After a deep breath, he replied, "No. You're right, you are. You are completely exactly right. Bloody hell, I heard you were quick."

"It's my job." Sherlock leaned over, "Now shut up and smoke." he ordered.

Causing John to eye him with extreme irritation. Sherlock was also desperate for a smoke, but John was starting to get a little worried. "Henry, your parents both died, and you were, what, seven years old? I know, that mu-"

John was interrupted by the sight of Sherlock pressing his face dangerously close to Henry's. At first, John felt a little jealousy pull at his heart, until he realized Sherlock was trying to sniff up his smoke. Thank god. Henry looked about as disturbed as he did. "Yeah... that must be quite a trauma."

John tried to ignore the awkward stared going on between everyone now as he continued, "Have you ever thought that maybe you invented this story to-"

Another close encounter between Sherlock and Henry. Sherlock sniffed impatiently, trying to soak in the recycled nicotine. John couldn't even manage to close his mouth out of shock. "Sh-Sherlock what are you doing?"

Sherlock ignored John continued asking questions, ending up with the decision to go down to Baskerville. John was hesitant. Sherlock always did irrational and crazy things when he hadn't had his regular dose of nicotine.


	4. Welcome to Baskerville

The trip to Baskerville was alright, and mapping it out was fine too. John didn't start to feel uncomfortable until they checked into the inn. The innkeeper was pleasant, he held a bright smile as he handed John his key, "Sorry I couldn't get a double room for you boys."

"That's fine. We-We're not..." John trailed off, realizing why he'd thought John and Sherlock would need a double room. He tried not to blush.

After some more small talk, John and the innkeeper finally got around to talking about the moor and the hound from hell. A smaller man came up from behind, joining into the conversation. "Yeah, lot's of monster hunters. Don't take much thee days, one mention on twitter and woomph." He turned to the innkeeper and smiled, "We're out of WKD."

"All right." the taller man turned and left.

"What with the monster and the ruddy prison, I don't know how we sleep nights. Do you Gary?" He giggled.

The innkeeper came back, smiling with a bottle of alcohol, "Like a baby."

The littler man elbowed him in the arm, "Now, that's not true. He's a snorer." he turned to John, "Is yours a snorer?"

Another gay hinting. Apparently these two were together themselves. John sighed, bought some crisps and left to join Sherlock before things got more awkward. Sherlock investigated the boy who ran the monster trails, asking all sorts of questions and joking around trying to make the boy tell him information all on his own. No force needed. He was good at things like that. It wasn't until the boy pulled out a footprint carved into a block of ground no doubt pulled up from the trail he walked on with the tourists, that Sherlock really started to pay attention. The paw print of a big about the size of a horse.

Next they drove out to Baskerville itself, only to be greeted by large mass of men n camofloge, guns strapped to their chests and steady and intimidating looks plastered across their faces. When he was asked for ID, Sherlock pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to the man. Making John worry.

"You've got ID for Baskerville? How?"

"It's not specific to this place." Sherlock replied, "It's my brother's, access to all areas. I um... acquired it ages ago just in case."

"Brilliant."

"What's the matter?"

"We'll get caught."

"No we won't. Well, not just yet."

"Caught in 5 minutes." John joked, "We're just going to have a wander around your top secret weapons base. Really? Great! Come in! the kettle's just boiled." John pretended to be both sides of a conversation. "That's if we don't get shot."

The guards approved and the gates opened. "Mycroft's name, literally opens doors."

"I told you," Sherlock smiled, "practically is the British government."

Once they were inside, they were led around by a corporal. A young man in security, just doing his job. They made it all around the building, in just a few minutes. Looking at the different animals locked in cages. There were monkeys, rabbits, dogs, birds, and many others. There was everything from stem cell research to trying to cure the common cold. Weapons were manufactured and such. The case continued even after they were escorted out after Mycroft had finally gotten word that his kid brother was using his ID card to break into a military base.

Doctor Franklyn had saved their bacon after the alarm was sounded. He'd been the one to escort them. He knew it was Sherlock however. Sherlock was pretty famous after all, he didn't seem to care for the attention though. They'd finally made it back to the inn when Sherlock groaned. "John I need some!"

"Sherlock, I thought you were going to be fine since we were on a case." John ignored.

"I'm bored. I'm jittery. I need something to do." Sherlock begged.

"Well we can't very well go investigate anything now it's late Sherlock!"

"I'm bored."

"So?"

"So entertain me."

John gulped. He tried desperately not to let his mind wander into the dirty crevaces that contained his fantasies about Sherlock. Entertain him? That was practically an invitation! John calmed himself as he took a sip of the tea in his hands. Warm and comforting.

"Get me some!" Sherlock cooed.

"No."

"Get me some!"

"No."

"Get me some!"

"Sherlock!" John was trying to be patient. It was like trying to keep candy away from a 6 year old.

"So... Bored... John..." Sherlock flopped onto one of the beds. "Entertain me!"

It was going to be a long night.


	5. Why We Love Our Innocent Blogger

**Quick note: Why we love our innocent blogger... **

John tried to sleep, but the sound of Sherlock bouncing a tennis ball against the ceiling made it extremely difficult.

"Sherlock you're going to wake up the whole bloody inn!" John barked, rolling over, his back facing the detective.

"I'm bored John!" Sherlock groaned as he continued.

John turned over in his bed, now glaring at Sherlock. "Go to sleep then!"

"Sleeping is boring."

"Sherlock..." John whined. "Sherlock please. I need sleep."

"Then go to sleep." Sherlock continued to bounce his ball against the ceiling.

John growled, "I CAN'T VERY WELL SLEEP WITH YOU BOUNCING THAT BLOODY BALL!"

The bouncing stopped. Sherlock flipped his head over to look at John, his hand still in position to toss the ball up again, but not moving, as if he were waiting for permission to continue. "I'm. Bored."

"THEN ENTERTAIN YOUSELF!" John yelled, tossing his hands in the air with frustration as he turned his back on Sherlock again.

Oh John honey, that was practically an invitation.


	6. Can't We Stay Like This?

"THEN ENTERTAIN YOUSELF!" John yelled, tossing his hands in the air with frustration as he turned his back on Sherlock again.

Oh John honey, that was practically an invitation.

* * *

That's when the bed dipped behind him, and a warm body pressed against his as arm snaked their way over him, trapping him in an embrace. John couldn't breathe. The tennis ball's annoying clangs against the Inn roof had faded, and now he was suddenly being spooned!? "Sh-Sherlock!?" John questioned. "What are you doing?"

"Entertaining myself." Sherlock muttered softly into John's neck, sending shivers up his spine.

"Wha-"

"You said I should entertain myself." Sherlock interrupted. "So, this is me, entertaining myself."

John gulped, "What's so entertaining about spooning me?"

"Your reaction. For instance..." Sherlock slid one of the hands wrapped around John's waist down to his wrist, and pressed soft lips against John's neck, "How your pulse skyrockets when I kiss your neck. Or how your ears get red and hot." Sherlock bit down gently on the tip of an ear, making John whimper.

"Sherlock..." John started, but was distracted by hands sliding under his shirt.

Sherlock's hands started to grope him gently, feeling for all his sensitive spots, occasionally leaving light scratches in tender areas. John's head was spinning like mad. He let his fingers tangle themselves in the ones that explored his body. When John's hands were pushed away, he was worried he'd done something wrong, that is until Sherlock started venturing further down. John's erection was being slowly pumped by the hands of the great detective, Sherlock Holmes. It felt like heaven.

"Sherlo- Hah!" John whimpered when teeth gently nibbled at his neck, followed by a tongue that wanted to do some exploring of his own.

John was thrusting slowly into Sherlock's hand, feeling himself fall further into desire. Sherlock was getting him off. He'd dreamed about something like this before, but this was too vivid to be a dream, and he was sure that he hadn't fallen asleep that quickly. That's when Sherlock's hand started to move quicker, bringing John closer and closer to the edge. "Sherlock! I'm... I'm gonna-"

John didn't have time to finish his sentence before he came all over himself and Sherlock's hand under the covers, no doubt staining them. Sherlock released his grip on John's softening member, making sure to get John's attention before licking the sticky cum off his fingers. His tongue danced in a playful manner. John was facing the detective again, his eyes partially lidded and his breathing choppy and lewd " Sherlock, that..."

"I'm not bored anymore." Sherlock grinned.

John giggled.

"Well, that's a relief. However, I'm tired now. Mind if I get some sleep finally?" Sherlock nodded but didn't move off the bed, making John roll his eyes. "That means you're going to need to go back to your own bed Sherlock."

"No it doesn't." Sherlock pulled John closer to him, letting his blogger's head rest on his arm like a pillow. "I can sleep here too."

John smiled before nuzzling himself into Sherlock's chest, enjoying the warm arms around him. He sighed happily before falling asleep, dreading tomorrow morning. "Can we just stay like this tomorrow?" John muttered, more to himself then Sherlock.

"We've still got a case to solve." Sherlock placed a lingering kiss on John's forehead, showing his comfort.

"I think Henry has a childhood trauma he needs to deal with. That's all." John groaned, knowing that probably wasn't it at all.

"You don't believe that."

"No." John sighed.

There was a short pause as they enjoyed the quiet snuggling before John suddenly started laughing. Sherlock flashed him a questioning look, "John?"

"Haha! Sorry," John giggled again, "I was just thinking..."

"That's dangerous." Sherlock joked, but still got hit.

"I was thinking that I should take away your nicotine more often is all." John scoffed, but then his face softened. "Or '_get me some_' could start meaning something totally different." he was giggling again.

"John."

"Yes?"

"Get me some."


End file.
